


We're Not Just Friends.

by rodrigraphics



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8263603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rodrigraphics/pseuds/rodrigraphics
Summary: two 20 year olds don't know how to figure they're own complicated relationship out. and it's okay.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for 8000$, I will stop.
> 
> thx fr reading.

He tore the wall down between the rooms. Bashing through the rusted tin. When Butch was away on a trip. One week.

All he said to Butch was, _we need a bigger bed now don't you think ?_

His easel was cowering in the corner of the expanded room already, draped over and hidden. He never showed his paintings. 

Butch asked if he was okay, he said _yeah— yes, I am. I am._

Butch didn't press any further.

Only 2 weeks ago were they celebrating his 20th birthday. He wanted to spend it at home, alone, just the two of them. And Dogmeat. Of course.  
He gulped down a bottle of champagne. Something Butch found by chance, the previous week. Butch didn't mind, he preferred beer anyways.

Butch had to carry him to bed that night.

It was the 28th of July, what should've been an ordinary day. Regular. Repetitive.

Butch wanted to leave, already 10 minutes back and he was suffocating. He needed to leave, for both their sakes. Moriarty's was still open.  
When he opened the door, Lucy West was there, startled. He didn't bother to ask how long she'd been waiting. 

“Prince charming is upstairs.”

She didn't respond.

It was more of the same. Gob polishing glasses till they reflected the clouds, Nova painting her nails waiting for travelers to come through. More of the same. Repetitive.

Jericho sat down next to him, a glare in his eyes.  
A glare Butch refused to meet.

“Tell your boyfriend to keep it down when he does renovation. Woke me up at in the middle of the damn night. Probably everyone in town too.”

“He's not my boyfriend.”

The beer was more bitter than usual.

 

Andrés was still awake, by the time Butch got back. Near midnight.  
Laying on the couch, staring at the empty space in front of him. As if he was waiting for something, a worried look in his eyes.

They didn't say hello to each other.

The space in their room felt too big now, before too cramped. Would there ever be a happy middle ground ?  
At least they had a new bed.

He came up after a few minutes and laid down next to Butch.

The space between them was cold. The bed big enough now so they wouldn't have to invade each other's personal space.

Butch asked what Lucy West was here for, he said just to talk.

Believable and probably true, but something in his heart still tugged at his mind. 

He was staring at the ceiling, and the moonlight from the window illuminated his face. His eyes were dark, but despite his moods they were always warm. Brown bleeding into black.

Butch felt like his were too cold. Reflecting even in the dark. Blue that turned into ice.

Butch stared more often than he would like to admit. He was sure Andrés was aware. But never said anything.

It was better to say nothing.


	2. The words that you imparted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But let's talk about you for a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe reread the first chapter.
> 
> angsty bi boys.

At 2:46 in the morning, Butch woke up. No rhyme or reason, maybe a bad dream he couldn't remember. Something.

Andrés was still asleep.

Keep your hands to yourself.

He tapped a finger on Andrés’ wrist, lightly. Tracing the veins down his arm.

“Have you ever thought about keeping your hands to yourself.”

Their eyes met, startled blue versus agitated brown.

Andrés’ hand pushing Butch’s intruding hand back into his own chest.   
He knew Andrés could feel his heart race, the small tremors. 

“Sorry.”

He heard Andrés mumble something under his breath. _Por qué creo esto era una buena idea. Malcriado._

“Don't be an asshole.”

“I'm an asshole, because you're a pest.”

“Fair enough.”

Andrés turned away, and Butch traced down his spine with his thumb.

Quick and ferocious. His wrist caught by Andrés, grip so tight he could already feel it bruising.

“What the fuck is your deal Butch.”

“Nothing. What's yours?”

“You.”

Butch chewed on the inside of his cheek.“You're just so far away.”

“Maybe I want to be.”

“No, no you don't.”

“Yes, yes I do.”

Andrés let go, his fingers sliding off of Butch's wrist carefully, slowly.

“You're a real asshole Butch.”

“Like I don't already know?”

“I am too.”

Butch snorted, “definitely.”

Inches away now, leaning over. An arm resting right next to his shoulder.   
Butch could feel Andrés’ breath on his eyelashes. It made his stomach flip. 

“Butch DeLoria,” an index finger poking at Butch's ribs uncomfortably, “I hate you.”

Butch smiled, “Andrés Santos, I can't help but feel the same way.”


End file.
